


Do The Glasses Make The Man?

by cheshirejin, spiralicious



Category: Justice League
Genre: Comfort, Community: hentai_contest, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 18:24:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheshirejin/pseuds/cheshirejin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiralicious/pseuds/spiralicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark Kent stood in front of the mirror in his old bedroom at his parent’s farmhouse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do The Glasses Make The Man?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Kira for pinking this for us :D
> 
> We originally wrote this for Multi Fandom Hentai Contest, Prompt 78 "Glasses" under the usernames kattrip033 and cheshirejin at livejournal.

Clark Kent stood in front of the mirror in his old bedroom at his parent’s farmhouse.

“Clark Kent,” he said to himself quietly. “Superman,” he said, sliding his thick black framed glasses from his face and again regarding his reflection, before replacing the glasses. It had been a rough day. Superman had saved the day once again and been given a medal for stopping a kidnapping in progress. While he was happy to help, and was so glad the kid was safely returned to her parents, he couldn’t help feeling let down when as Clark, he was shoved around and flipped off by some punks on the subway after work. The cherry on top was overhearing Lois talking to one of her friends about her big red and blue vibrator she had named Superman. Sometimes having super hearing was a bitch.

 

He told himself it didn’t matter that one of his best friends had succumbed to Superman fever along with the rest of Metropolis, but it really made him feel inferior as just plain old Clark.

 

A shadowy figure landed, silently to normal ears, upon the balcony that ran the front of the old Kent house. Batman stepped quietly through the bedroom window and stood behind Clark.

“You are way too predictable,” he said, after a few long moments of entertaining himself by watching Clark wait for him to speak.

Clark sighed. “I suppose you had to follow, after I left the ceremony like that.”

“I could have left you to your own devices, but I was wondering what got under your impervious skin so badly.”

“It just gets to me sometimes, the whole everyone-loves-Superman-nobody-loves-Clark thing. I don’t know why it matters so much but it seems like the real me is being constantly rejected in favor of him. Sometimes, I am not sure where he ends and Clark begins. It’s like I am losing myself to Superman bit by bit, maybe I hunger for that kind of acceptance and attention deep down, as much as I hate to admit it.”

Batman did his best to pay attention to Clark, but his eyes were drawn to a light glinting off of a picture frame. It was a picture of the Kents. He couldn’t take it anymore. Reaching around Clark, he picked up the picture. Clark stopped talking and guilt flooded him when he remembered what the driving force behind the dark knight was.

“Clark, you don’t need the admiration of the whole world, you have the love of the people who know the real you already,” he said, leaning forward until their lips met in a surprisingly gentle, lingering kiss.

Clark blinked. The kiss had been unexpected in the midst of his pity party. He leaned in, needing the comfort the kiss had promised. Batman sat on the bed, pulling Clark into his lap. He kissed his neck, caressing Clark’s sides. They hurriedly undressed each other until they were bare, simply Bruce and Clark, the way it was meant to be with them.

Bruce blanketed him. Taking things slow to soothe the other man’s wounded ego, Bruce licked and kissed his way across Clark’s body,teasing until he left him a panting, writhing mess. He wanted the man beneath him, begging to be taken, no matter who he was at the moment. Bruce complied with Clark’s simple, urgent request. The bed creaked in protest of its rough treatment. Clark groaned out his completion with the last thud of the headboard against the wall. Bruce came soon after.

Afterwards, Bruce lay on the bed watching Clark’s breathing. He was feeling sated, but generally annoyed at his partner’s constant need for reassurance. He needed to get in one last dig. “So, I’ve sampled Clark, when do I get to try out Superman?”

He was answered with a pillow smacking his face a little harder than necessary. Clark then cuddled up to his side and Bruce knew that the other man’s identity crisis was over for the moment.


End file.
